TFF: Ovion Archives

That was bold of me, I know, but today was an unusual day all round. I just felt its strangeness vibrate at my very finger tips. I looked down to those finger tips and noticed a blue glow gleaming off its tips. I shook it off hoping no one noticed. It was one of the things that set me apart from this lot. When I got angry or unusually upset a blue glow would appear about my fingertips. I have kept this odd occurrence away from anyone's knowledge. It was not something I wanted to share. I was looked upon with enough strangeness as it were there was no need to add fuel to the fire, to provoke an early dismissal from this all pure Johuan school, especially when a dismissal was already inevitable given Albert Smint's propensity to hate me and my very dependency on him passing me on his class. I knew he relished putting me on the spot making me sweat it through, he would take any excuse I give him to have my ass booted out of this school. Smint was a snob, a brutish snob who thought the pure Johuans were the very epitome of the living gods and goddess. I of course knew otherwise. Having lived with them and been sneer at by them, I was well beyond the worshiping that other inhabitants of the awakened worlds were bound to prostrate themselves at their feet.

So like always I held onto my wayward tongue, leashed my temper and reined it in. I knew nothing good could come of my losing my temper at him. He could do more than twice the damage that I could ever have managed, even if by some fluke I land a blow in edgeways. So, I kept myself mute and took deep breaths to sooth my inner self, called onto my emotional management technique otherwise known as EM1 and was about to silently congratulate myself on accomplishing a modicum of calm when the evil Smint raised his head and announced to all in a loud, shocked and fake whisper, "What? What is it I hear? What did you just say to me? You were up all night canoodling with a boy?" He gave a mocking laugh that triggered a response from a number of jerkwads, but most remained silent as usual. I felt bile rise up my throat. The keen need to vomit at his feet was overwhelming. It was almost instinctual. Any show of joy on his part, like his current bout of laughter, inspired me to puke.

A deep, calming breath later, I managed to coax myself out of that reaction too. But this time, I withheld on the self-congratulations, for I knew he was not done. He never was.

It's just the final term left. Just one last semester then I'd be free. Free from Vnetor and, most importantly, free from Albert Shmuckface Smint.

The asshole moved on. The team were instructed to move into pairs. A roll call eventuated designating the names to each pair. I waited for the worst to happen. Predictably, it did.

"Marcus and Sim!"

I stood there, my mouth agape in horror as crapface announced that with a certain level of glee.

Marcus the unbeatable. Marcus the blade. Marcus the fleet-footed. Marcus the invincible. Those were just the few of the terms tossed around about Marcus. That Marcus was paired against me in a fight that would determine my next few darths, for that was just about how long any tryst with Marcus could possibly hold out. Darths was the time it took for one of the Johuan's three satellites to complete a full rotation of Johua. As one might have guessed that particular satellite was famous for simply whizzing by at speeds greater than the speed of light. In fact, going back in history, it had taken over a thousand sals, sals being the time taken for Johua to orbit its star, before Johua even knew that satellite existed. It just kept whipping by all hyper like, as if on steroids.

The outcome of this fight was obvious to all. To produce an alternate outcome would be impossibility. Defeat settled in my bones like butter melts onto hot briquettes. Momentarily distracted by that thought of scrumptious briquettes, I felt my mouth water. The energy bar had not been enough to sustain my large appetite.

Palm to face. Twice! Focus! I prompted my attention back to the field and the fight at hand.

I shook off the loser attitude and moved into position. Head high and with all the appearance of confidence, I whipped up my sword, then down and away in the age-old comport of good sportsmanship. My partner did the same, only, with a slight sneer on his face. It was obvious he counted this one as already in the bag.

This was to be the first round of sword fighting. The losers of this round would then fight amongst each other just as the winners would fight amongst each other. The loser amongst the losers would be up for consideration over whether they qualified to the final semester, while the winners would just battle on till the sole remaining won the trophy. A trophy was never my aim. My ambition was merely to survive this first round. That was all I needed. Just that first win.

But I had been optimistic in my expectations. I had been hoping to fight either Jarid, who had injured a limb recently, and whose reflexes would naturally be slower than mine ...as if... or Grace, who was the nicest Johuan I knew and might have had some pity on me and let me through. But as it were, I was paired with the immovable Marcus. There you have it another label for opponent, Marcus the Immovable. Gah!

My chances of surviving this first round had just plummeted six feet under.

Clash!

The first strike was done. It was only because of pure reflex that I met that at all, for my focus was dead gone.

Clash! Clash!

Hmm . . . maybe I should just stay on autopilot? I seemed to be more capable that way, I pondered it over for a moment for it seemed with my rational mind clicked off and my fighting spirit plummeting on a one track downhill, I was better able to take on Marcus. I mused over the matter stupidly for a moment before it struck me that Marcus was toying with my. The damn fool was mocking me. He obviously considered this win already in the bag.

I have had it with people mocking me for that happened often enough. A burst of rage overcame me, built up from all these sals of crap being shoved in my face. I got angry. EM1 be damned! I leaned in on the attack. Marcus whipped out a side attack that almost caused me to fall. But he had held himself back with a smirk, not wanting to end it that quick, I guess. Though I was thankful for his prolonging my demise at the figurative end of his blade, I was still annoyed that he rightfully thought me an easy win. The smirk on his face just enraged me further, and I compounded that anger by making the mistake of glancing over Marcus's shoulder to the distance where asshole Smint stood, not even bothering to conceal his evil smirk. Not that anyone would notice, for all were well immersed in their fights. Seeing that evil smirk was what did it. Call it hormonal imbalance or whatever, but my rage grew at a sharp tangent.

Clash!

Marcus the jerkwad evaded my strike, fanning my fury further. But I could see Marcus had tensed up, finally taking me seriously.

Clash! Clash! Clash!

My feet flew beneath me at speeds I didn't even know I was capable of. My arms swung every which way, meeting his every strike. I was all focused now. Strike, swipe, deflect, crouch, and swipe again. The pattern began to form in my mind a nanosecond before it was played out. I realised I was anticipating his moves rather than just matching them. My focus was absolute. I neither saw nor heard any other on that field. The field itself was forgotten. There was only the opponent before me and the burning desire to survive. In my mind, it was life or death. So I fought with all I had. At a point where I would normally have started to tire, I was instead re-energised and it was my opponent who was weakening. His movements, never up to speed to begin with, slowed even further and then went slower still. It came to a point where a swing from me had him falling on his back just on impact. The shock of that hit them both at the same time. I had defeated him. Marcus had lost to me!

He bellowed in fury, not quite understanding what had just happened. I didn't understand it either, but was not about to question my good fortune. Nevertheless, I had difficulty in containing my sudden joy. It was an immense relief that I felt creating buoyancy that was an utter contrast to what I had been feeling only moments earlier. I glanced about at the rest of the class. The stupefaction on the faces of all my peers curtailed some of that joyous feeling. I was then able to placidly give my one arm salute, as was custom at the end of such matches, a formal practice to mark the end of a joust and to acknowledge a match well played. Then I move off to take my place for the next roll call. I resolutely avoided looking at crapface Smint.

The next round started, and my defeat was almost instantaneous. I blamed it on the high that was still riding on from Marcus's spectacular defeat. Regardless, I had achieved what I had set out to do. I was content with what I considered the ultimate win I had secured my place on the list for the final semester. The thrill of knowing that was amazing. In just a semester more and I would have graduated from Vnetor and leave this all behind for good. Not surprisingly the very idea of freedom beyond those walls had me floating on cloud hydrogen from sheer euphoria. But it took just one word from a rotten core to bring me back to dirt.

"Sim!" the dickwad called out.

"Yes, sir!"

"You will report to me at the lab, afternoon break," he said in a cold and calculating tone that served to slowly ground me once more. Crapface was not pleased. Retribution was coming my way. Despite knowing this, I was still happy. In fact, I blame the remnant of the highs from that dissipating cloud hydrogen for what happened later that day. I had quite forgotten about its combustible nature. So it was my fault entirely that that high blew up in my face. So I do not deny my faults in the events that would unfold.

In fact, I took full credit for it.

****************

It was well past noon and I was already late. I made my way to the lab in a dark mood. I had just fought with my inner-rhythm coach Miz Wah, who taught the ancient art of containing my chi, the very core of my soul. Ironically, inner-rhythm is part of the lessons syllabus for EM1 training, the training on how to maintain control over ones emotions when provoked, in other words, to suppress one's chi. I had been having more difficulty than usual in achieving inner-silence which was a prerequisite before moving into a state of inner-rhythm. For some reason, inner-silence was a little more difficult to attain this day which was an oddity in itself for that training had been drilled in almost from birth. So Miz Wah's impatience over my lack of attention was while ironic at least justified, to say the least. As with all my problems, even this tiff was laid to blame at Albert Smint's door. I firmly believed that the root cause of my unsettling attentions came from the stress of having to face Albert Jerkwad right after my training with Miz-Wah.

Being down in the dumps was becoming an increasingly common frame of mind I had been experiencing over the last few sals. I attributed that entirely to my unwanted acquaintance with Albert Smint. In fact, I could not find one negative emotion, one pessimistic thought or one destructive tendency that I had experienced over the sals where I could not lay full blame at Albert Smint's elegantly shod feet. I was virtually fuming, figuratively blowing steam out of my ears as I made my way to Smint's lab. Why he even had a lab was beyond me, for he was, after all, merely a weapons instructor and so being physical exercise was more his forte despite all the airs he put on. So what that he also taught the histories of warfare? That was hardly an academic accomplishment in my mind. It was simply a regurgitation of events past. Events one could pick up on one's own from a book or even a discourse with a more elderly Johuan. Mere storytelling was a more apt term. No, there was nothing of Albert Smint that I could possibly allude to in good light.

I slammed my way into the lab, all insubordination, knowing full well it would only serve to make things worse. My hands tingled from building tension. But I was just in that frame of mind. Nothing could calm me at this point, not EM1 and certainly not anything that Smint could contribute. In fact, only thinking of Smint served to heighten my dissatisfaction, worsen my rising anger. It would not take much to move me from mere fury to full-blown rage. In hindsight, that state of mind I was in should have alerted me, rang a warning bell of some sort, stop me from having gone there in the first place. But hindsight is the very damnest thing, wasn't it? There to torment and nothing more.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked contempt dripping from every syllable and very visible on my face.

"Sim, my dear, so kind of you to make it," Smint said in full sarcasm. He pointedly looked towards his expensive antiquated timepiece.

I did not bother with a reply.

"I have something prepared for you. Something you will enjoy," he said, coming close to me. He leaned in to sniff my hair. I shuddered in revulsion. He must have mistaken that reaction for something else entirely, for his next words were totally out of line.

"My bitch!" he said and raised his hand to take a firm grip of my hair. He pulled my head back and leaned over me to look me in the eye. His body was pressed up against mine. I shuddered again in pure revulsion, but I did not say anything, for it would have been pointless. I was sure to one not as egocentric as Albert Smint, my disgust was apparent enough from the venom of my gaze, were I to give voice to that venom, especially in the mood I was in, it would produce a vitriol that would not only serve to convey my exact feelings towards this putrid foul faeces of a sadistic bitch, but it would also guarantee my not graduating from Vnetor, ever. So I said nothing and held it all in. The tingles in my hand just grew proportionately to my mental distress.

"Come," he said pulling me along by my hair. I stumbled after him, knowing where this was leading but helpless to do anything about it. Usually, that helplessness served to humiliate and bring about tears and pleas in futility, but today, it just pushed at my fury. He led me to a bench with a flat steel-surfaced top. His experimentation table. Today, there were ropes and the like attached at various points. It was evident he would restrain me on that bench. This was so not looking good. Then, I noted some sharp-edged instruments lying on a gurney in a corner. But before I could react, I was swung up onto the bench with minimal effort. He was really strong. All Johuans were.

I screamed in terror and struggled to get off, but within the blink of an eye, I was strapped to the surface. I kept screaming even though I knew it was futile.

"Scream all you want, darling. It would just add to the thrill. This room, as you well know, is, of course, soundproof," the creep only confirmed my fears.

He moved off to roll the gurney closer then he picked the scalpel off it. I screamed some more, unable to help it, for my distress was that great. I pleaded with him to let me go, to not do this, but he simply lowered the scalpel to slice off my Vnetor issued symbian covering. I screamed shrilly in pure terror, expecting the worst, but all he did was laugh unpleasantly at my distress.

"You really should wait for me to actually harm you before you decide to try to blow out my eardrums," he said mockingly as he leaned back to preview the results of his efforts. His eyes darkened with lust as they trailed over my naked form. He reached out to flick his long fingers over various parts of my, touching freely where he wished. My terror subsided somewhat, thinking that it was just going to be the usual sex after all and that he was just trying to scare me. He did scare me.

But then he raised the scalpel again and, this time, laid it gently against my skin. The move was so unexpected after what he had been doing earlier that I did not scream at first, and feeling that cold metal against my skin just made me hold my breath in fear of what was to come. It was like a featherlike kiss against my skin as he pulled it down and across my torso. I felt all this but could not see, and so I had not expected the sight that met my gaze when he suddenly tilted the surface top to its side and I saw in the reflector before me the blood pouring out of every part he had carved into with that scalpel. My skin was ripped open gaping to show parts of me I never wanted to see. I was surprised to see so much damage, for I had not felt the pain then, but I did feel it now. I also felt the beginnings of a rage unlike any I had ever experienced before. This mutilation of my person was the very last straw. Oddly, it was a rage that stemmed from within me, from my own helplessness in letting this freak do this to me, use me for his own amusement, for his own kicks.

The rage thrummed in my blood along every nerve. Overwhelmed, I now tingled all over and not just in my hands as I usually did when distressed. Albert swung the table back. I noticed through my almost blinding rage that he was now naked as well. Then he moved to climb over my. I felt him close in and then the rage took over. The rage was all there was. The tingles from every part of me rippled to the surface before it burst out.

My vision was blurred in red. Instinctively, I reached up to wipe my eyes, and I realised I was free from the straps that held my. Confused, I looked about, and all I saw was blood and guts splattered across every inch of floor, wall, ceiling and all around me. I looked down at myself and saw that I was covered in the same. I was sure it was not all my blood.

Of Albert Smint, there was no sign, and it slowly dawned on me as I slowly regained my faculties that what I was seeing was Albert Smint. That it was his blood and guts that were splattered all over. I looked about for something, anything, that could explain this, but I was still in a fog-like mental state. It could have been due to the shock or blood loss or whatever, but I was simply too dense to process anything at that moment. So I got off the bench and made my way to the medic unit that had been conveniently located in the sadistic bastard's lab. My movements were slow and sluggish from shock and blood loss, but I managed to pull myself in and get my wounds healed and then found some blood-soaked fabric with which to cover myself as I made my way out of his lab, and then, after a brief stop at my room to wash up and pack, I hailed the first hover out of Vnetor.

Chapter 2

Farting Bum Bums

Musland zone, Planet Lycus

Four sals after

SIM

"I'm fine!" I said brusquely into the dead comm, wishing someone would be asking me just that across the comm line, knowing I should have alerted Aviaton Sector, more popularly known as ASec, a division of the Ovion Centre security base that protects this half of the planet Lycus, as soon as the indicator light had gone off instead of waiting, hoping the problem would go away. It was bad enough feeling like an idiot owing no doubt to my impressive curves-to-brain ratio which, appearance-wise, was way off the charts. I looked down at my abundant curves and reluctantly admitted that size did matter. On no account fat by any means as that state was virtually impossible with the universal health food directive that got introduced more than a decade of centuries back. No my lush proportions were an unusual imbalance on my otherwise thin frame. It literally defied reasoning. Just one of the many inexplicable things about me that I just accepted at face value. There was no easy answers anyhow and I was not about to go out of my way to needlessly work at discovering me. I knew what I needed to and had enough knowledge to get by. That will do.